


I'll get over it, but let me be dramatic first

by Indecision



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ?I guess?, Claustrophobia, Could be considered platonic I suppose, Crowley happens to bitch the perfect amount for someone in his situation, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Gen, M/M, May be chapter 1 of many?, Snake!Crowley - Freeform, Snakes, Who's to Say, theatrical demons are the best demons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indecision/pseuds/Indecision
Summary: Snakes are drawn to warm, cozy hiding places. Aziraphale's bookshop has a lot of them. Unfortunately not every place that can be gotten into can be so easily gotten out of.There's not enough Snake!Crowley in the world so once again I have to do everything my goddamn self.





	I'll get over it, but let me be dramatic first

“That’s a tad dramatic I’d say.”

“I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO BE DRAMATIC, GOOD SIR.”

“Now Crowley really, I hadn’t meant-“

“OOHHHHHH you hadn’t meant to, eh? Well that’s reassuring, so long as you hadn’t bloody meant to!”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together firmly. The room fell silent for a moment as he grasped for words, his expression growing ever more sheepish.

“I, ah, really it could’ve happened to anyone.” He tried again with a timid attempt at an apologetic smile. Crowley puffed exasperated and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, really now it couldn’t have been anyone but you, and it couldn’t have happened to anyone BUT me.” He threw himself down in the only arm chair in Aziraphale’s already cluttered workspace, his overflowing bookshelves leaving few places to sneak in such unnecessary frivolities. He laid the back of his wrist across his forehead, as though his dramatic woes weren’t apparent enough to his angelic company.

“Regardless, I honestly don’t see the need for such a fuss, you got out unscathed didn’t you?” Aziraphale tried again.

Crowley gawked at him, his chin thrusted back and his eyebrows drawn sharply down. His mouth hung agape. “I was in that bloody box for four bloody, HELLISH hours!”

“Well if you hadn’t been snooping around where you didn’t belong maybe lids wouldn’t be falling closed on you!”

“OH- pfft.” Crowley rolled his head back on the chair in mock exasperation. “It’s not like it was hidden! I didn’t go out of my way to find it, it was right there! Open, inviting!” Crowley glared vehemently at the box behind Aziraphale. The box stubbornly did not return his gaze.

 

 

When Crowley had strolled in to the shop earlier that day, he had his hands in the pockets of his suit and his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. He pulled them down a bit to look over the rims, scouring the shop for his angel. Empty. The sign had said closed, and the door locked, but that meant nothing to either of them. He drifted deeper inside the maze of shelves.

“Angel?” He called, “You here?” No response. He made his way to the back room and called again, “Aziraphale, anyone home?” The room was empty, the shades open wide letting the warm spring sun filter through the window pane, illuminating the dust in the air. Crowley walked into the light, letting the rays stain his skin as he breathed deep. He glanced at the box in the windowsill. It lay open. It was a simple wooden box, gracefully carved with depictions of feathered wings encircling the edges, as if to protect its contents, which were to rest on the fine, soft black silk lining the inside. He turned and leaned to sit back on Aziraphale’s desk, looking all around the empty space. “What to do, what to do…” He tutted under his breath as his fingers idly drummed against the desktop. He noted the half empty mug of cocoa on the desk beside him and reached to lay the back of his hand to the side of the cup. Stone cold. The angel hadn’t been here for hours. He sighed deep and puffed out his cheeks, exhaling slowly as if to expel the disappointment weighing down his chest. He glanced at the box again. There was something about it that seemed so… alluring to the demon. Like it had a… pervasive glow to it. It practically gleamed in the sunlight and the black satin inside shone like polished obsidian. Crowley stood and strode to the window, again reveling in the warmth. Reaching out, he ran his fingertips across the waves of black cloth, warmed from the sun. Wordlessly, he began to change.

There was little thought to it, more of an instinctual urge to just be, to exist within that warmth that somehow seemed to exist for the sole purpose of providing comfort and welcomeness. There was something _so bloody familiar_ and _comforting_  about the box that Crowley didn’t have as much as a second thought before he slithered his way onto the windowsill.

When he lounged as a snake, it was usually in private, or somewhere that would be hard to fit as a human-shaped entity, and though naturally he was much bigger than the measly three feet he had reduced himself to, the box called to him, and he would make do. Coiling around himself, he settled within the sun-soaked satin and savored the feel of sun on his scales. The lingering warmth beneath him made for a marvelously cozy experience. He’d been snug in the box for all of two minutes before he drifted into a fast sleep. He had been asleep for less than five when he rolled over, tail brushing past the box’s delicate hinges, and the lid slammed shut.

 

 

When Aziraphale returned to the shop hours later, he had arms full of groceries and was humming a cheerful tune he’d heard playing in the market earlier. He couldn’t quite remember the words, and his Spanish was slipping from disuse these days, but he mumbled what he could remember with a smile nonetheless. [1] He jostled his groceries to one arm and flipped the closed sign on the door to open. He strode right on through the back room to his apartment upstairs, unmindful to the gentle yet incessant knocking from somewhere seemingly far away.

When he returned to the ground floor an armload of groceries lighter, he carried with him only one small potted plant. He carried it gingerly, with both hands, and placed it with care on the desk. “Marvelous,” he cooed, “you’ll be absolutely adored!” He gave one of the leaves a gentle boop for emphasis, and the plant seemed to preen. He left it there to bask in the sunlight and went to man the front desk. The gentle tapping returned.

 

 

“Yes, yes, bye now.” Aziraphale ushered the young lady out the door, holding it open for her. He closed it as she passed and turned the open sign behind her. Absolutely outrageous, he couldn’t help but think, the absolute nerve some people had to come into _his_ shop and purchase _his_ books, as if they had any right to _his_ collections. The girl had boughten TWO whole books, meaning, in Aziraphale’s mind, his library was down several hundred pages worth of knowledge. Absolutely outrageous.

He needed some cocoa to calm himself, he decided. He suddenly remembered his cup, abandoned half-full hours ago, and went to fetch it. This time around, he noted the rhythmic rapping immediately and frowned. It sounded like someone knocking, but so quietly, and most certainly from inside the room. He wandered closer, looking all around. He peered under the desk and even opened a few drawers in his search for the ceaseless noise. “What in Heaven’s name…” He whispered. His gaze finally fell upon the box, and he swallowed hard. Not much could truly harm an angel in anyway that really mattered, but Aziraphale was timid by nature and approached the box with a trembling caution. Reaching out, he placed his hand on the lid without opening it, perhaps steeling his nerves. The knocking continued. Aziraphale pulled back his hand, only to replace it once more, and retract it again. He eyed the box warily. “Oh, damn.” He muttered before flipping the lid in one quick motion. It was then that he screamed, as a coiled snake lunged from the box, rippling scales expanding in size before his very eyes. He had leapt from its path and watched the serpent turn round to face him, now more than 20 feet in length, drawing itself up to easily surpass Aziraphale’s own height. Its eyes glowed a distinct and familiar gold.

“C-Crowley?” The angel scarcely breathed. The serpent was close now, its massive head tilted and inches from Aziraphale’s face. Its thin, forked tongue flicked across his cheek making him wince. “Crowley, what on earth…?” The snake’s tail had begun to shrink, slithering into itself as Crowley began to shift. The angel found it almost difficult to watch and averted his gaze. It was only when he couldn’t stand the heat from the demon’s glare boring into his temple that he turned to face him again. “…What were you doing in a jewelry box?” He then found Crowley’s hands fisted in his lapels and his back slammed against the wall.

 

It had taken quite some time for the two to calm down enough to converse like normal non-humans. The box now lurked behind Aziraphale on the table he leaned against. Crowley glowered at it indignantly. It had obviously been unbeknownst to the demon that the box had _literally_ been carved gracefully, charmed by a fellow angel and gifted to Aziraphale sometime back in the 3rd century. Aziraphale had only recently found it again while digging around for a long forgotten book, and had placed it on the windowsill to keep it from being once more neglected for another 2 millennia.

“I just can’t believe you’d leave something like that lying around, honestly, I’m almost a little incensed. It’s like leaving garlic bread on a vampire’s countertop, or a silver hairbrush on a werewolf’s coffee table.”

“Crowley, this is not _your_ coffee table it is _my_ windowsill. You do not live here.” The angel reminded sternly.

“Semantics,” Crowley countered, “you’re missing the point. That _thing_ -“ he pointed accusingly, “-is a nightmare for creature’s like me and the very fact that you would have it in your house is insulting.”

“I can keep what I like in my own home, thank you.” Aziraphale humphed. The two sat wordlessly for a moment before Aziraphale broke the silence. “Frankly I just don’t see how I’m at fault here.” He stated with a sense of finality.

Crowley sighed and kicked his feet up onto the desk the angel still leaned against. He lay sprawled sideways in the armchair and leaned his head back off the edge of the arm. “…It’s, I’m not saying it’s your _fault_ , angel, I just,” he rolled his head to peer at him, “I guess I’m just irritated. In general. Not at you, just, the situation. You know.” He waved his hand dismissively. Crowley’s glasses were dark and his expression unreadable. He let his head loll back again and the angel could only imagine what he must be thinking. What he might be thinking at any given time for that matter. It had always been a mystery to him and he’d frankly given up on trying to read the demon. He’d come peace with the fact that he’d likely never know.

“Wuz that?” The demon drawled pointing to the desk. Aziraphale craned his neck to look behind him.

“Oh, yes, quite right.” The angel pursed his lips for a moment in hesitation.

“I’ve never known you to own a houseplant.” Crowley mused. “Not one.”

“Well, I still don’t truthfully. This one is for you.” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly picking up the plant. “I saw it at the market today and know how you treasure them. It made me think of you and, I don’t know, I thought you’d enjoy it.” He smiled thinly and extended the plant to him. The demon hadn’t moved, only stared at him, then at the plant, then back to him. He slowly sat up straight and accepted the plant with both hands. He nodded to the angel and leaned back properly in the armchair with his feet on the floor.

“Thank you.” He mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded back. “It was my pleasure, dear.”

They sat in silence again, Crowley with the plant nestled in his lap, until he cleared his throat and shuffled. “Well, I should be off then, taken up enough of your time as it is.” He said moving to stand. Aziraphale stood as well. “Thank you, for this,” Crowley reiterated raising up the plant, “really.” Aziraphale smiled that bashful look of his. Crowley left him beaming stupidly as he sauntered from the room, clutching his plant to his side while his hips swayed like a snake through tall grass.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Despacito


End file.
